A 'Pearing' Made In Heaven
by TheCircuitMan
Summary: FREDDIE/OC MULTI-CHAPTER: Freddie has been re-hired by the Pear Store after the tumultuous events of ep. 5.5, "iPear Store". A film-making brunette needs assistance with a computer problem, and Freddie is assigned to the task. Is it a 'pearing' made in heaven? (Rated hard T for lots of profanity and even more steamy moments. On hiatus; story revamp and new chapters forthcoming.)
1. Chapter 1

"Welcome to the Pear Store!" the bubbly redhead sales associate greets, practically bouncing on her tip-toes. "How may I assist you today?"

"I've got a problem with the FireWire port on my PearBook Pro," the small, slender brunette replies, clutching her infirm silver laptop against her chest. She looks around the redhead's shoulder to see a stout young man standing toward the far left of the Brilliance Bar—' _Freddie from iCarly?_ '—before continuing, "I've heard that y'all are really good at chasing down bugs."

She's interrupted from her looky-loo as the redhead, with a knowing look in her eyes, smiles and answers, "You've come to the right place."

§

"What a day," Fredward Benson mumbles to nobody in particular as he ambles through the back door of the Pear Store, his brown leather messenger bag slung over his right shoulder and his car keys brandished in his left hand. Deep in thought, he makes his way toward the far corner of the small parking lot, where his old Nautic Blue Volvo V70 station wagon awaits him.

He still has no idea how Ashley convinced the Magnolia Pear Store's management to hire him, much less place him exclusively on the Brilliance Bar—something for which he was grateful, after about three weeks of failed job interviews due to his disastrous day under Natalie's tutelage at the downtown location. He felt thankful that his new co-workers were all affable, kind, and friendly; not once during his extended six-hour shift had he suffered so much as a snide remark—something foreign to his relations with the _iCarly_ crew and his classmates. ' _Heh…Carly and Sam are probably waiting at home, wondering where I was at for rehearsal_ ,' he muses.

Speaking of Carly, she had gotten somewhat defensive of Sam after Freddie's firing, even though Sam had shown absolutely zero remorse. Carly had tried that 'wild chimp' speech again, but this time, Freddie wasn't having it. As much as he adored Carly and wished she'd return his love, her constant defense of Sam (almost always at his expense) proved to be too much. However, the bulk of his frustration with the _iCarly_ namesake was not due to the rote excusal of Sam's behavior; rather, it was because of her implicit rejection of his romantic advances. Even knowing he was never entitled to her love, he begins to wonder why she wasn't straightforward with him…why she said 'no' four times after the taco truck incident by way of Adam, Kyle, Steven, and Trey, respectively.

' _How does cuteness repair a computer?_ ' he ruminates, beginning to fume as he recalls Carly's story about Trey, the shy nerdy dude-turned-lecherous pervert. He had transferred to Freddie's Pear Store location just one week before Freddie was re-hired, in an alleged bid to work closer to his family in Magnolia as opposed to having to go all the way into downtown. However, as it turned out, the real reason was to quietly get away from some of his former downtown Seattle clientele. A few internal complaints had arisen that he had been pulling the same stunt that he tried on Carly. Three nights after the transfer, though, Trey had scurried a little too far down the rabbit hole of sexual assault.

While Freddie couldn't help but be slightly gratified at the sight of Trey being led out of the establishment in handcuffs by a member of King County's finest, his overarching emotion about the whole situation was, and is, anger. Anger at Trey for treating Carly as less than the queen she is, anger at Carly for not reporting him sooner and letting his behavior slide, and anger at himself for assuming Carly would do the right thing. However, that anger abates the moment he remembers Chelsea, the smart, sweet, incredibly attractive brunette that Brenna (he thinks he's got the name right) had greeted, just an hour after Trey's arrest at the beginning of his shift.

§

… _the redhead, with a knowing look in her eyes, answers, "You've come to the right place."_

Freddie had just completed a ticket on a middle-aged man's new PearPhone XT that wouldn't connect to cellular data…apparently, he had turned off the phone in the middle of a carrier update. A quick factory reset later and the ticket was closed. It was a little more exciting than the constant stream of forgotten Pear ID passwords, internet browsers that wouldn't load due to too many add-ons, and broken PearPhone screens.

He looks up from the Brilliance Bar's shiplap-clad counter and surveys the landscape; the bubbly redhead who had enthusiastically befriended him during his training is talking up a customer, probably around Ashley's age, if not a little younger. ' _And_ what _a customer!_ ', he ogles, paying close attention to the way her dimples flex while she talks to the sales associate and the way she holds that silver PearBook Pro against her chest.

Shaking his head and focusing on the computer screen in front of him, he mentally chides himself for seeing too far into a situation even before words can be exchanged. He misses Brenna's point and glance, so he doesn't know that the brunette has walked up to the counter until he hears someone distinctly female clearing their throat.

"Hi…Freddie?" she nervously greets, setting her laptop down on the counter with a soft smile on her face. He nearly flinches at the sweetness of her voice, a sweetness he's unused to hearing.

"That's my name," Freddie replies, returning the smile and needlessly grabbing for his name badge for emphasis. "How can I help you today?"

"My Cutting Room Flow won't do a live import," she informs. "I've changed settings, I've rebooted, and nothing works. I think it's my FireWire port." She opens her computer and logs in before presenting the specimen to Freddie for inspection. Her left hand briefly brushes Freddie's right hand as he reaches over to manipulate the trackpad.

He blushes as he tries to swallow his awe and maintain a cool composure. He isn't even so much impressed by her seventeen-inch PearBook Pro Cornea—a rare sight in its own right—but by the fact that a girl with a voice so _sweet_ and skin so _soft_ knows so much about video work.

"Were you able to try with a different camera?" Freddie barely chokes out, given the sensation of her fleeting touch still bouncing around in his mind. When she answers in the negative, Freddie nearly jumps at the opportunity to retrieve a piece from the Pear Store's troubleshooting war chest: a high-def Canon camcorder similar to his retired workhorse.

"I do a lot of live streaming with iCarly, of course," he nonchalantly explains as he returns to the counter from the back room, camera in hand and composure (mostly) regained. "Sometimes, a certain format mismatch between the camera and the computer can cause Cutting Room to go berserk."

"I didn't know you used Cutting Room as a capture tool for the broadcast," she mentions. "What do you use for the graphics? They always come out really, really good."

"You've watched the show?" he inquires, feeling rather flattered.

"Yeah, I have, and I do," she grins. "That's kinda what inspired me to start doing videography myself."

"Wow…" he trails off. "I never knew my work was such a huge influence."

"I betcha that there's other people out there that think the same way…not all of us fans worry about who you're dating. Some of us wonder what graphics you use…"

"I was getting there!" he chuckles. "As far as graphics, I use Brickhouse's Effects Room, actually—it's simple, but it's lightweight and it adds next to no latency to the video feed."

As the brunette looks on in awe, Freddie connects the Canon to the Pear's FireWire port, making it pop up in Cutting Room's camera menu. Turning the camera's LCD viewfinder toward her, he shows her that the camera is configured for the proper setting, and then configures Cutting Room's settings to match.

"What do you do that requires streaming?" he curiously asks.

"Usually kooky motivational speakers," she supplies with a chuckle. "I've done three documentaries—I just did one on Cuddlefish, actually—but the corporate events are what help me save for college."

"Is that the one I saw on TV a couple weeks ago? That's awfully impressive!"

"Thanks," she blushes. "I worked on it with my AV club advisor; it was a labor of love."

"It was quite good," he beams. "I liked hearing some of the stories from their early days." He taps a couple of buttons and gets a picture, making her quite surprised. He grins before cutting the feed and disconnecting the camera, setting it aside.

"But I thought changing the settings on my end would have helped," she nearly whines. "I thought the settings on my camera stayed the same…" she trails off.

"What kind of camera do you use?" Freddie knowingly asks. He explains that the Panasonic camcorder he uses for the broadcast had that problem about three weeks ago after he updated its firmware. It had reset all of his settings, including for recording format, and Carly and Sam had pestered him for two days straight while he tried to solve the problem.

"…the same one," she sheepishly answers, blushing slightly. "And I did update the firmware a couple days ago."

"That'd do it…" Freddie trails off. "Why do you use the FireWire port, anyway? I usually run a wireless pack or go straight from the camera's video out."

"I would take my feed off the video out, but that hardware is really expensive."

Freddie scoffs. "I know…I just replaced the capture card I use for the show about six months ago after our stupid intern, Cort, fried it along with everything else." He looks down, almost in shame, before continuing. "Several thousand dollars' worth of damage—the capture card alone was a thousand bucks—and I don't even get one word of thanks."

She gazes at his defeated posture, feeling pity for the sweet boy in front of her as she takes in the sadness present in his big, brown eyes. "They ought to thank you, Freddie. Without you and your knowledge, iCarly wouldn't exist."

His head whips up and his face begins to blush at the compliment. "Nobody's ever told me that before," he softly admits.

"That's a mistake," she sweetly responds. "Sounds like you need some nicer friends."

Freddie chuckles and grins before taking the bait. "I've been working on that…maybe, if you're interested…?" he shyly trails off, heart beating faster than normal.

"You're the first guy I've ever talked to for tech support who hasn't laughed at me or tried to talk down to me," she half-groans, shutting the lid of her laptop. "Of course, I'm interested!"

Freddie slides a pen and notepad toward her; he's transfixed by her hand as she scribbles down her phone number in her uniquely loopy handwriting. He shivers with excitement as she sets down the pen and looks up at him.

"I'm Chelsea Wiggins, by the way," she introduces, holding out her hand for Freddie to shake. He hesitates for a moment before shaking it, making her smile and blush at his shyness.

"Freddie Benson," he awkwardly greets back, his mind trying to process the softness of her touch. "Although you already know my name," he adds, drawing attention to his nametag again. He deeply blushes before looking down at his computer screen.

"You didn't know our last names rhyme, though," she laughs and winks. Freddie's eyes look back up at her sparkling blue-green ones before she continues. "Shoot me a text after you get off of work…maybe a smoothie will calm your nerves? I promise, I won't bite." She smiles before turning around and heading out of the busy store, laptop in tow, leaving Freddie in a practically catatonic state with a stupid smile on his face.

"Match made in heaven, huh?" Brenna asks as she saunters up to the Brilliance Bar a moment later. Freddie can only mutely nod.

§

Freddie is so deep in thought that he realizes he's forgotten to actually get in the car. He unlocks it with the remote, first walking around to the passenger side to deposit his bag in the footwell, before taking the wheel. He slides the key into the ignition and twists it to light off the Volvo's turbocharged five-cylinder engine. As the engine settles down to an idle and the a/c gently kicks in, he turns his attention to his phone. He surveys the situation: eight missed calls and six voicemails from Carly, three missed calls and a text full of derogatory epithets from Sam, and even a missed call from Gibby. Deciding that he doesn't want to ruin his good mood by responding to any of them, he begins composing a new message.

9:08 p.m.: 'Yo, Chelsea, it's Freddie. Just got off of work—wanna meet me for that smoothie? :)'

Her response is almost instantaneous…and Freddie is pleased by both the response and the speed with which it was generated. He quickly texts his mother to let her know about his whereabouts (even though he has his own suspicions) before depositing his phone back in his pocket. With a broad grin on his face, he snicks the Swede's five-speed manual into first gear, lets out the clutch, and pulls out of his space. Setting the downtown Groovy Smoothie in his sights, he clicks up the volume on the radio, and an old Cuddlefish album (a gift from Carly two birthdays ago) wafts from the stereo speakers.

Across town, in Apartment 8-C at Bushwell Plaza, its sole female occupant feels a strange pit in the bottom of her stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** _Thanks, y'all, for the first chapter love. Not to spoil anything in this upcoming chapter, but I like to think Spencer has some maturity beyond the façade presented in canon. (I'm a Nikon shooter, but I digress…heh…camera puns.)_

 _Please forgive my picayune car references—as I'm a huge car nut, I like to have some specificity beyond "the red one!" or similar. While I'm aware of Nathan Kress's love for Camaros, it's doubtful that Freddie's mom would allow him to have something so speedy, so I subbed in a region-appropriate Volvo. For the record, even a modern base-model V6 Camaro can get you into big trouble very fast—it's more powerful than my early-2000s V8 Mercedes!_

 _Without further ado, please enjoy this next chapter of_ A 'Pearing' Made In Heaven _._

* * *

Freddie had made good time getting to the Groovy Smoothie and had also made quick work of parallel-parking his wagon between a cranberry red Honda Pilot and a pewter C5 Corvette. After setting the parking brake and shutting down the engine, he feels a sense of trepidation creep in. He pulls his phone out of his pocket for a quick time check, almost immediately setting it down on the passenger seat as he sinks back into his mind.

' _Am I betraying Carly by doing this?_ ' he can't help but ask himself. No matter his feelings involving her conduct, he realizes that he still can't deny his _feelings_ for her.

"Ashley is a girl and is my friend," Freddie says aloud, his heart thudding in his chest. "Why should I feel guilty about Chelsea being my friend?"

The moment he finishes speaking, he instantly knows why he feels the guilt he does. He sends Chelsea a quick text informing her of his arrival before closing his eyes and allowing himself to relax.

§

 _Across town, in Apartment 8-C at Bushwell Plaza, its sole female occupant feels a strange pit in the bottom of her stomach._

Spencer is awakened from an impromptu slumber by the faint noise of an upstairs door being slammed. He wipes the sleep from his eyes before hauling his tired self off the couch. Ignoring the climax of _Boogie Bear Takes Manhattan_ (he found the VHS and an old deck a couple weeks ago in his storage unit), he starts up the stairs, his tired climb becoming a quick jaunt once he hears the telltale sound of his baby sister vomiting. By the time he's made it to the second-floor landing, Carly is in the middle of brushing her teeth. She opens the door once finished, and Spencer can tell that she's distraught.

"You alright, cupcake?" Spencer coos, arms raising for a hug.

Carly slowly walks into her older brother's arms, acquiescing to (but not returning) the hug. "Freddie didn't show up for rehearsal tonight…" she defeatedly mutters as her countenance falls.

"Didn't he tell you he was gonna be at work?" Spencer curiously asks, suspicious that she isn't divulging the whole truth.

Carly's frustration rises as she explains the situation to Spencer. "Yeah, but we told him he couldn't abandon the show…I didn't think he was actually going to do it."

"Carls…" Spencer cautiously chides, releasing Carly from his grasp. He finds a rare sense of clarity before continuing. "Freddie has his own life too. He _did_ give you guys fair warning, after all. And I wouldn't blame him for choosing a job over you guys after everything that's happened over the last few months."

"Whaddya mean, 'everything that's happened'?" Carly screeches, using air quotes where appropriate.

Spencer lets out an exasperated sigh as Carly places her hands on her hips. "Sam got him fired from the Pear Store, and you basically told him to get over himself. And the whole thing with Adam? I mean, you don't have to date Freddie if you don't want to—that goes without saying—but I'd let the boy down easier if I were you."

Carly's breath hitches as a lone tear falls down her cheek. "Spencer, that was mean…" she trails off.

"I wasn't trying to be mean," Spencer says softly as he again pulls Carly in for a hug, which she reciprocates. "I'm just trying to give you Freddie's perspective. You know, he _did_ save your life."

Carly jumps away from Spencer, eyes aflame and an argument brewing on her tongue. "Why on earth does that even matter?!" she squelches.

"Because…!" he grapples. "I was told you guys were on a temporary break until Freddie got out of the casts."

"Well—I—uh…" she pauses.

"Carls, like I said, you don't have to date him if you don't want to. Just be intentional about—"

"About what?" she impatiently interjects.

Clearing his throat, Spencer continues. "Just be intentional about what you want from him. If romance isn't what you want, then _tell him_. He deserves to be happy just as much as you do."

"Spencer…when did you get so wise?" Carly asks with a small voice.

"Just call it a brother's instinct," he plays off with a smile. "I've dated too much not to have learned anything, and I like Freddie too much to just kick his ass and be done with it."

§

Freddie's eyes blink open upon hearing three rapid taps against his car's passenger-side window…he doubts he was asleep for long, but he's embarrassed all the same when he looks right to see Chelsea patiently smiling through the glass. Quickly making to get out of the car, a profuse apology brews on his lips.

"Hey, Chelsea…sorry I fell asleep…" he drowsily mutters as he walks around the front of the car onto the sidewalk. "It's been a long day and I've got a lot on my mind and—"

Freddie finds himself engulfed in a whirlwind of chestnut hair and coconut essence as Chelsea wraps him up in a warm hug. It takes a little bit for him to regain his senses before he returns the contact, a sense of comfort and trust rapidly developing between him and his newfound acquaintance. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding before truly giving himself over to the embrace.

"I usually don't hug people at all, never mind people I barely know," Chelsea explains mid-embrace. "I don't know what came over me…it just seemed like you could use it."

He smiles and squeezes her before they disengage, both of them leaving lingering touches as they do so. "It helped…thanks."

"How's about a smoothie for your thoughts?" she offers as Freddie locks his car. "Seems like you've got a lot to get off your chest."

"You have no idea," Freddie mutters before walking over to the smoothie establishment's front door. He pulls it open for Chelsea, allowing her passage before following her inside.

They saunter up to the counter, both of them aware of their close proximity to one another. T-Bo gives the pair a curious look as they sidle up to the register.

"Why, madam, I don't think I've had the pleasure of meeting you!" T-Bo remarks at Chelsea rather gaudily. "Freddie's usually around here with the iCarly gang."

"I just got off of work," Freddie proudly announces with a grin. "Chelsea was a customer of mine today."

"Did he turn on his ol' Benson charm?" T-Bo asks Chelsea with more than a little sarcasm.

She rolls her eyes, ignoring T-Bo's question. Freddie steps in quick to place the pair's order before T-Bo can get in another word.

After a slight delay, Freddie's Strawberry Splat and Chelsea's Tingleberry Blitz are delivered to their booth with more than a little rigmarole as they converse about their work.

"I've always wanted to do more long-form work," Freddie wistfully says. "I like the pressure of being live, but sometimes, iCarly gets to be a little much."

"Fame getting to your head?" Chelsea chuckles.

Freddie shakes his head. "Not even that…for me, it's so much more work than rehearsals and Friday night. Since we're so small, I also have to be the Webmaster and sysadmin for the iCarly website…dealing with all the servers and stuff. I hardly ever get a break."

"You told me about y'all's intern earlier," she recalls with a slight Texan accent. "Did he help at all?"

"He was dangerously stupid…called a to-do list a 'toe-doe' list…drank _lemonade_ out of a _bag_. That's how my equipment got ruined. You draw your own conclusions."

"So that'd be a 'no', then…" she trails off, sucking down some of her smoothie to fill a beat of silence. "How'd y'all—you guys—ultimately get rid of him?"

Freddie surreptitiously smiles at her correction as he clears his throat. "We were trying to set up a 'raw meat storm' for the webshow," he accentuates using air quotes. "When I hit the button to release the steaks, we noticed that a few were missing…and then we found ol' _Cort_ in the corner polishing one off. Uncooked."

Chelsea shudders before offering a reply. "Where I'm from, we like our steaks rare…but uncooked?"

"Yeah…I told you he was an idiot." He chuckles and takes a drag of his Strawberry Splat before continuing. "I even recruited my friend Ashley to act as a bigger idiot in the hopes that Carly and Sam would agree to fire both our stupid-yet-beautiful interns."

"I'm sorry…say _what_?" Chelsea laughs, doubling over.

"That was my bargaining chip!" Freddie exclaims. "They fire Cort, I fire Ashley."

"And did it work?" she asks, the laughter subsiding and leaving a bemused smile on her face.

"Yeah…it almost didn't, though, when they found out I'd been tricking them all along!"

Chelsea breaks out into more laughter—infectious laughter—which starts Freddie laughing. They both let out a few snorts, serving to intensify their laughter and draw the ire of an increasingly interested audience.

By the time they're both able to calm down, Freddie finds his hand ensconced in Chelsea's warm grasp. He blushes wildly, and when she winks and squeezes his hand, she blushes as well. Remembering T-Bo's earlier suggestion as to their activities, he finds his voice and apologizes.

"I'm sorry about T-Bo earlier…he shouldn't have said that. I mean, I can take teasing, but that went too far."

"No apologies needed, Freddie…that didn't go too far for me." She smiles, internally preparing herself for the big point. "Is there a reason why you think they go too far? Do all your friends treat you like crap?"

Freddie's countenance briefly flashes an incredulous look before answering. "They don't treat me too bad…considering, after all, that I am a nerd. That usually doesn't earn me too many good points."

Chelsea steels her expression before continuing. "That's no reason to be mean to you, though. Tell me, how often do your ' _friends_ ' take your side in any given situation?"

"Never," Freddie answers without hesitation. "Are they supposed to?"

She feels her heart break slightly at the boy's answer. "Always."

"Oh…" he trails off, looking down and spending a moment to wrack his brain.

Chelsea, assuming he was trying to find a single example of his friends standing up for him to use in his argument, leans over and touches his hand. His head jerks up; he catches his breath and gazes into her eyes before she draws his hand into hers and begins speaking. "I've watched the show enough to see that Sam is a total jerk, and _that_ 's being nice…and I betcha that's the tip of it."

"Very observant," Freddie offers. "I just don't know how comfortable I am talking about it here."

"We don't have to now," she gently smiles, squeezing his hand before releasing it. "We've got all the time in the world to get to know each other."

"So I'm gonna have to do worse than be a nerd to get rid of you, huh?" Freddie cheekily retorts.

Chelsea openly giggles, again catching the attention of the few patrons left in the smoothie establishment. "A _lot_ worse!"

Freddie vibrantly grins, his heart quickly growing a soft spot for the sweet brunette sitting across from him. They both take another sip of their smoothies; Chelsea is quicker to set hers down and speak.

"So, are you from around here?" she asks, changing the subject and hoping Freddie will get a chance to let the rawness of the previous conversation heal.

"Yeah!" he excitedly says. "I've been around Seattle all my life. I actually live across from Carly in Bushwell Plaza just across the street."

"Really? Why don't you work at the Pear Store downtown?"

"Long story, involving Sam. I'd rather not get into it."

Chelsea curses herself for uncovering another wound. "Sorry…I didn't know it'd strike a bad chord."

"It makes sense…there's no sane reason I'd drive twenty minutes to work when I could easily walk from the apartment." Freddie chuckles lightly at his 'sane reason' wording.

"So you're a real 'local', then…I like that." Chelsea smiles broadly before working at her smoothie.

"Yep…I guess you're not from around here?"

"Originally, no. My parents both grew up in Texas, and since my dad was in the Navy, we were stationed in Corpus Christi for a while. Then when I was in fifth grade, we got transferred to Whidbey Island…he retired a couple years ago and we moved down to Seattle. We've lived in Magnolia ever since."

"That explains the 'y'all's'…" Freddie grins.

"I still get teased a lot for it," Chelsea sheepishly admits. "That's why I corrected myself earlier…I'd hate for you to think I'm a freak."

"What if I told you I kinda find it cute?" he asks, a shy smile gracing his face.

"I'd be a little flattered," Chelsea giggles with a slight blush. "More than a little, actually."

Freddie broadly smiles before shielding a yawn. "Sorry…I'm really out of it. Long day, after all."

"Me too," Chelsea remarks with a small yawn of her own. "And I think Dad will have strong words with me if I'm not home soon."

"I know my mom's gonna pitch a fit. I'm surprised she hasn't called." He pulls his phone from his pocket, seemingly confirming the fact.

They slowly make their way out of the Groovy Smoothie, leftovers in hand and smiling content smiles. Freddie gawps as Chelsea pulls her keys out of her pocket to unlock the Corvette immediately behind his wagon.

"I figured that Corvette was yours," he chuckles before nervously explaining himself. "I started getting into cars once my mom started letting me learn to drive."

"You like?" she grins. "It's Dad's old car…he just got himself a Cadillac CTS-V coupe, so he passed the old girl down to me.

"I do, a lot! I'm kinda jealous too…my mom wouldn't let me get anything _fun_ , even though it was my money, so I had to appease her and get the Volvo. She's _muy bonita_ despite her age…and Mom doesn't need to know it's turbocharged." He winks toward the 'T5' badge proudly affixed to the wagon's liftgate.

Chelsea chuckles lightly before lifting her arms for a hug. "I wish we could talk all night, but I've really gotta get home."

"No worries, Chels," Freddie reassures. He steps into her embrace and wraps his arms around her once more, catching another whiff of coconut. He takes the opportunity to breathe in her homely scent, not noticing her doing the same thing as they hold each other close. "This…tonight…was really, really nice."

"I liked it too, Freddie," Chelsea honestly answers. She gives him a slight squeeze before releasing him, again with a lingering touch. She shyly slinks away toward her car, but her upper arm is caught by Freddie's strong, gentle grasp. He pauses a moment before ripping off the proverbial band-aid.

"I'll see you again, right?" he nervously inquires, his free hand fidgeting with one of his pants pockets.

"Pinky promise," she immediately assures, offering an extended pinky for Freddie to take. He drops his hand from her arm and they lock pinkies for a little longer than necessary, if only to prolong their contact.

"If you need a friend to talk to…just text me or call me."

"Will do," he promises. "And…thanks."

She smiles broadly before popping open the 'Vette's door and sliding inside. "Thank _you_ for fixing my computer earlier. See ya, Freddie!"

He offers a shy wave before retreating to his wagon for the short drive to Bushwell Plaza's parking garage. He turns his head at the bark of the Chevy's LS1 engine coming to life. As he plops down into the Volvo's soft leather seat, his head tracks the motion of the Corvette merging into traffic, waving at Chelsea as she drives past. She eagerly returns the wave before disappearing into the abyss of downtown Seattle traffic. A broad smile grows on his face as he etches the memory into his mind.

§

A couple minutes later, his V70 is parked up next to his mother's silver Subaru Forester. He walks into Bushwell's lobby, back slightly straighter, and releases a held breath once he realizes Lewbert isn't at the receptionist's desk. Before long, he's ascended the elevator and is at the threshold of 8-D. He's let himself inside and has only locked the door when Marissa immediately storms out of her bedroom.

"Fredward Benson!" she shrieks. "Where on earth were you?"

"I was at work, and then I went for a smoothie with a friend," he truthfully answers.

"I texted you three times!"

"I didn't see any of those, Mom," he states as a matter of fact. "I would've texted back otherwise."

"Really? Well, our cell service _has_ been flaking on us lately." She lets out a sigh before breaking another piece of news. "Oh, by the way, Carly came by earlier wondering where you were."

"I told her I would be at work," Freddie sighs. "Guess I'm gonna need to talk to her tomorrow."

They both suppress yawns as they head toward their bedrooms. "Leftovers are in the fridge, son…I've gotta be up early tomorrow. Love you! Don't stay out too late without letting me know next time…"

"Love you too, Mom," he softly smiles before entering his bedroom. Closing the door, he quickly lays down, avoiding the urge to close his eyes.

He's got serious butterflies after his outing with Chelsea. Turning over to his side to fish his phone out of his pocket and plug it in to charge, he begins to ruminate about not being used to a girl paying him actual, genuine attention. He realizes that any attention he gets is either in malice, hero-worship, or just to suck up to the guy who might rule the world with his tech one day. While it's obvious to the tech producer that Chelsea respects his prowess, she talked to him like just any other person—a welcome relief from being talked down to or being blown off.

He finds that he can't ignore _her_ either—never mind her trim build, her high cheekbones, and her elfin nose that he imagines might just be rather kissable—the biggest reason being that he can't resist melting into her hugs. Most girls tended to hug him like an object (except for the couple of times Carly had hugged him), whereas Chelsea had hugged him with a certain tenderness that he formerly believed only Carly possessed. Where other girls' touches had intrigued the boy, Chelsea's touches had enchanted him.

' _Chelsea enchants me_ ,' he admits to himself as he drifts off to sleep, ignoring the fact that he's still in his day clothes. ' _I'm falling hard for her. But_ how _hard will I hit the ground?_ '

§

Chelsea eases the pewter 'Vette into the motorcourt of her family's home. She pulls into her garage space before killing the engine and bounding inside. Her radiant smile catches her father's eye as she deposits her book bag in the study of the spacious home.

"Hey, Princess—you look happy!" her dad greets, setting his Tom Clancy tome aside. "Did you get your computer fixed?"

"Yes, I did…it ended up being something stupid simple," she informs. "I also made a new friend."

"Oh? Is that why you were out so late?" he inquires, pointing at the wall-mounted clock. "Lucky you didn't go past your curfew, young lady."

"Yes, Dad," she groans. "His name is Freddie…he's the guy who worked on my computer."

"Freddie from _iCarly_?" he asks, unknowingly mimicking her internal query from earlier.

"Yeah," she answers somewhat dreamily. "He's a lot sweeter than they make him out to be online."

"I wanna meet him," he quickly remarks. Seeing his daughter's bemused glare, he continues. "Look, I wanna meet any guy you're interested in. Even if he is an Internet superstar."

"I'm not interested in him _that_ way," she lies with a twinkle in her eye. They both know it.

"Chelsea," he steels his voice. "I know that look, courtesy of your mother—God rest her soul. You're infatuated with him at a minimum. And it's okay, as long as the boy knows to treat my princess right."

"Okaaaay, Dad…" she trails off, giggling. "I'm gonna head to bed; it's been a long day."

Her father rises from his seated position to wrap her up in a hug. "I want you to be happy. You deserve it."

"I know, Dad…" she breathes, smiling gently. He kisses her on the crown of her head.

"'Night, Princess," he says before letting go. He gives her a smile before sitting back down to his book.

Chelsea slinks into her bedroom, quickly changing into night clothes, before making for the bed itself. She allows herself to snuggle underneath the covers before smiling in recollection of the day's events.

Her initial surprise at hearing Freddie's interpretation of the _iCarly_ group dynamic quickly wore off once she was able to recall how Freddie had been treated on the show. Though the nature of his position usually meant he was an afterthought, she had always been taught never to rag on the behind-the-scenes talent. ' _Carly and Sam could use that lesson_ ,' she muses as she turns on her side.

Freddie's immense interest in her audiovisual work left her gobsmacked as well. Though she initially interpreted it as his being polite, she quickly realized that nobody can feign _that much_ interest about a minor Cuddlefish documentary. She had followed the band during the making of one album, not their entire career. But Freddie soaked it up, and he asked lots of questions about her editing technique and how it was like to travel with the band. She was only happy to answer, of course, if it guaranteed more time talking with the quite handsome tech producer.

Her mind immediately makes a left turn toward the hugs they shared outside the smoothie joint. His musculature had been immediately evident to the teen, as had his fresh smell—' _Irish Spring?_ '—but what really stood out to her was his gentleness. Most boys tended to hug her like an object, whereas Freddie had held her tenderly. She had entertained a brief thought of kissing him at the end when he gently grabbed her arm to make sure she'd stay…surely not on the lips, but at least on the cheek…but had quickly shut down that train of thought.

"I really think Mom would like him if she were still here," she admits aloud. "I know I do…a lot." As she drifts off to sleep, she can't help but think of what it'd be like to share her cuddles with the gentle boy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** _To the folks who have already stumbled upon this humble fic, thanks a million for your kind reviews and follows, and I apologize deeply for the untimely update. I'm never one to be truly happy with anything other than perfection, and writing this new chapter demanded that I also perform some grammar and consistency edits on the previous two._

 _By the way, lots of life changes will be taking shape for me in the next two months, so updates will likely be as sporadic as they have been._

 _calvinhobbesliker, I think you (and everyone else) will be pleased with this next installment of_ A 'Pearing' Made In Heaven. _Someone else may be a bit jealous of Freddie's good fortune…_

* * *

Dawn has yet to break on an already-dreary Tuesday morning. The rain had been intermittent throughout the night, but at around four-thirty, the rain had picked back up and hadn't stopped. A particularly torrential downpour, driven by the wind, thrums mercilessly against the glass of Freddie's bedroom windows; he soon finds himself wide awake. Glancing left at the clock on his nightstand—five fourteen a.m.—he slowly makes to get out of bed. He shivers briefly after shirking his thick _Galaxy Wars_ comforter, only to shiver again once his bare feet make contact with the glacially cold hardwood floor. He rubs sleep from his eyes as he shuffles toward the shower.

As he shuts the bathroom door and draws a comfortably warm spray, he finds himself reflecting upon the rather sweet dream he'd had. He also finds himself wanting for a certain videographer's presence in his arms.

§

Freddie and Chelsea had decided to break away for a weekend away from their respective stresses—Freddie's ongoing stress over _iCarly_ 's recently intense filming schedule and Chelsea's rather tight school schedule. They had ultimately decided to camp overnight Saturday in Kalaloch, right on the Pacific Ocean. Freddie had recalled many fond memories of camping up and down Washington's northern coast with his father many times as a little boy. However, ever since his father's untimely death and the onset of his mother's mysophobia, he hadn't made a single trip out there—this would be his first trip in six years.

The pair spend the afternoon immediately after arriving exploring the beach just beyond their campsite. Whereas Freddie's shirtless body draws Chelsea's attention—especially given his firm six-pack and built upper body muscles—he's absolutely gobsmacked by the revelation of her bikini body. He has to take a steadying breath before forming another thought.

' _Good Lord,_ ' he eventually ruminates as he attempts to draw his eyes away from her curvy form. ' _What does she think she's doing to me?_ '

They slowly make their way down the beach side-by-side, their hands occasionally brushing together and sending tingles up their arms. She smiles at him before finally making a gentle grab at his hand, allowing him to break away at will. Her smile softens when he glances at her and laces his fingers through hers. He marvels at the softness of her hand, gently squeezing it in happiness.

"You wanna take a dip in the ocean?" Chelsea asks, eager to do something other than walking.

Freddie takes a moment to ponder his answer before grinning widely and sprinting into the water, dragging her along for the ride. Her cute squeal puts a smile on his face immediately before they both trip on a sandbar and fall into the water. Still laughing like idiots, they help each other stand.

"Just did," Freddie haughtily replies with another chuckle. The laugh dies on his lips once he looks down at his hands…positioned perfectly on her love handles. His face turns a rather fetching shade of pink, but he makes no move to drop his hands from her side. In response, her eyes darken with desire as her arms snake around his neck and she begins tilting her head. He freezes for a brief moment, taking the opportunity to literally swallow some fear before slowly meeting her halfway.

When their lips meet, time stands still. Physically, it's little more than a contact of lips. For the budding couple, it's a revelation.

Freddie's heart trembles at the pressure and the softness of her lips on his. He gently breaks the kiss before kissing her back with a little more authority. She giggles through lip-lock at the contact as their arms wrap around each other for a hug. As their bodies press fully together for the first time, they realize they need to get out of the water before… _things_ happen.

After separate _cold_ showers and a mutually enjoyable dinner—during which they discussed some boundaries pertaining to their blossoming relationship—the pair get situated on the air mattress in the back of Freddie's Volvo. They take their time exploring the new sensations between them, slowly alternating between kissing, giggling, and softly snuggling each other. After a nervous attempt at a French kiss, they're both tired out, but smiling and content.

"I can't thank you enough for being with me this weekend, Chels," Freddie whispers into her ear. "Just the fact that we're here means more to me than you'll ever know."

"Maybe one day, I _will_ know," Chelsea grins.

He pulls her flower-patterned down comforter over the both of them, but that doesn't prevent her snuggling up to him for extra warmth. Marveling at her tenderness and her boldness, he sneaks a kiss to her cheek.

"Can we do this again some time?" he asks before sleep takes him.

She smiles broadly, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck and planting a soft kiss. "I'd be disappointed if we didn't!"

§

Before stepping under the spray, Freddie twists the hot water supply knob all the way closed. Despite the now ice-cold shower, he still can't rid himself of the effervescent smile on his face.

After getting cleaned up and dressed for the day, the tech producer slides his PearBook into his backpack and makes his way over to Carly's. Despite the early hour—just before six o'clock—he hopes she can be coerced into going to breakfast. He pushes the doorbell button at 8-C; he doesn't wait long until the door opens. His surprise at seeing Carly is not easily hidden: she's fully dressed, as if she'd had the same idea as him, but her eyes are bloodshot.

"Mornin', Carls…you okay?" Freddie asks with concern.

"Didn't sleep much last night," she truthfully replies.

He palms her right shoulder with his left hand. "What happened? Show stress getting to you again?"

"Yeah…" she trails off, "sort of. Why are _you_ here, though?"

"Figured we could go get some breakfast before school…I know I'm hungry."

She smiles her first genuine smile of the past twelve hours. "I'd love that!"

They make their way out to Bushwell's parking garage. He slinks around to the passenger side of the Volvo before unlocking its doors, allowing him to open her door with an exaggerated flourish. She smiles warmly and pats his free hand before slipping into her seat and buckling her seatbelt. He then quickly makes his way toward the pilot's position, dropping into his own bucket and firing up the engine. In absence of engine heat, he clicks on the heated seat—offering the same to Carly, who graciously accepts—before shifting into first gear and setting off.

Despite the prolific rate of rainfall, they make good time getting to the freeway, which surprises Freddie's sleepless passenger. She looks at him with a slightly alarmed posture.

"Where are we going?" Carly asks in a near-panic as Freddie merges onto the lightly trafficked thoroughfare. "I thought we were just gonna go to the Groovy Smoothie!"

"Relax, Carls," Freddie soothes. "There's a really good place down in Burien—Mindy's Daily Bread—that opens in about half an hour. I usually go there when I need a quiet moment before school."

"Freddie, what have I said about telling a girl to relax?!" she reprimands as one would punish a misbehaving puppy. "And what quiet moment? Your mom is usually at work right now!"

The boy removes his right hand from the steering wheel and gently pats her shoulder. "Please…just relax. Seriously. What's been up?"

Her lips curl up slightly at the contact before attacking the question head-on. "You weren't at rehearsal last night! And you never texted me back!"

"I told you I'd be at work," he responds before replacing his right hand on the steering wheel. "It went great; thanks for asking!"

"Don't be smart with me!" Carly retorts. "Why didn't you text me back when you got off? I was worried about you!"

Upon seeing a traffic stop on the right-hand shoulder up ahead, Freddie pops over a lane to give the Washington State Patrol trooper a little more room before returning to the right-hand lane. "Stupid Prius drivers," he mutters under his breath.

"You didn't answer me!" she pipes up.

"Sorry…was trying to get around that traffic stop," he apologizes. "I was seeing a friend after work."

"What's his name?" Carly nosily inquires.

" _Her_ name is Chelsea," Freddie answers with a soft smile and a growing blush. Carly feels her blood run slightly cold at both the answer and the response it invokes within Freddie.

An uncomfortable silence permeates the car; the only sounds heard are that of a stray Tears For Fears track on the local oldies station and the rain pelting the windshield. He clicks on his turn signal to signal his exit from the freeway.

"What's she like?" Carly eventually asks, poorly attempting to hide her jealousy.

"She's a total video nerd, just like yours truly," Freddie eagerly remarks, flicking off the turn signal. "She lives out in Magnolia, near the Pear Store there."

"So you guys met at work?"

"Yeah…her PearBook wasn't taking in video from her camcorder. I got her all fixed up, though." He smiles as he turns onto a side street.

"I betcha you did, Freddie," Carly mutters.

Freddie chooses not to respond until he's parked in front of the diner. After setting the parking brake and killing the engine, he unbuckles his seatbelt and faces her.

"Carls, I can only say I'm sorry for not texting you back last night. It'd been a long day at work and I needed some time to myself." He steels himself before continuing. "As for Chelsea, she's just a friend right now. You know full well that the ship between _us_ …" he motions between Carly and himself… "has sailed. I still want to be your friend, but you need to know that I need to move on. Like I thought you did."

Tears brim at the girl's eyes. "I guess I just miss the days where I was the only special one in your life…where I got all your attention."

Freddie pulls her into a soft hug, rubbing her back slightly. She reciprocates as best as she can given the center console separating the two. "You're still an extra special girl in my life, Carls," Freddie coos. "You're my first-ever love, and nobody can take away the great times we've shared. But just like your notice to Sam—that she'd have to deal with you having another best friend in me—you'll need to accept that I might have another girl in my life. I don't know for sure, since I'm still kinda waiting for the other shoe to drop, but…"

Carly palpably relaxes before gathering her thoughts. "I…I know how hard it's been for you to make friends," she acknowledges. Pausing again, she swallows nervously. "Please, just…be careful. I love you too much to see your heart get broken again."

"Love you too," Freddie earnestly replies before pulling away from their hug, smiling as his hands linger on Carly's shoulders. "Now…how excited are you for a stack of Mindy's famous pancakes? They're soooooo good!"

"Way," she chuckles, her eyes clearing up and her smile growing despite the lingering thread of jealousy in her heart.

§

"I know you take your usual, Freddie…would you care to try our red velvet pancakes, darlin'? We just put 'em on the menu!"

If Freddie's reassurance in the car hadn't been the cause of Carly's smile, then their middle-aged waitress's short, cheery spiel would have easily taken its place. The _iCarly_ namesake lightly bounces in her seat, drawing a chuckle from the tech producer, before answering in the affirmative. Mindy turns on her heel to walk back and place the order with the kitchen staff, leaving the pair by themselves.

"You come here pretty often, huh?" Carly chuckles, sensing the friendliness and familiarity between Freddie and Mindy. She sips at her coffee, barely avoiding Freddie's gaze.

"Yeah…I guess I do." He takes a thoughtful draught of his coffee before letting out a puff of air. "We used to live just down the street from here. Mom, Dad, and me. Dad and I would always come here either in the morning before he dropped me off at school or just to hang out."

Carly nods as her eyes begin to mist over. Freddie's dad, she was told long ago, had died shortly before her and Freddie had met—shortly after Freddie and Marissa had moved into 8-D. She remembered feeling a sadness for the boy upon learning the disease to which he'd lost his father— _leukemia_ —the details about which she'd recently learned in her science class at the time. A brief pain shoots through her heart as tears brim at her eyes.

Unbeknownst to the web star, Freddie had also paused to gather his composure. He continues softly, speaking toward the table, "Saturday, June eleventh, two thousand five, he sat me down at this exact table and told me that he might go to heaven soon. Three months later, he was dead. Mindy's owned this shop since before my parents got married, so she's like a godmother to me. She was my only friend during that."

"Wow…" Carly breathes before taking the boy's hand. His head jerks up to meet her soft, brown gaze.

"Mom moved us to Seattle not long after he died because she couldn't stand the memories. I haven't been able to come here since then until I got my license last year. It's one of the only good memories I have of my childhood."

Freddie drops his gaze to their joined hands as he feels a tear fall onto his hand. Slowly, Carly brings his hand to her lips, softly kissing the back of it and rubbing it with her thumb.

"I'm sorry I couldn't have been a better one," she whispers softly, regret filling her features. "I should have never covered for Sam like I did. I should have never pushed you toward Sam like I did."

"Carly," Freddie replies firmly as their stacks are delivered to the table, "nothing we can do about the past." He appreciatively nods toward Mindy before continuing. "Like I said in the car, I absolutely want to explore what Chelsea and I could become. But I wouldn't be me if you weren't in my life."

The boy isn't even mad when she kisses his hand again…maybe a bit perturbed that she soon thereafter drops it to ravenously attack her pancakes, but a stray growl in his belly prevents that argument. He smiles before beginning work on his stack with equal fervor, a comfortable silence settling between the pair.

§

Seven forty-nine a.m., and Carly and Freddie have barely pulled into Ridgeway's parking lot. Sam awaits the pair just inside the front doors, foot tapping and stance haughty. Mutiny brews on the blonde tearaway's lips as she sees the pair emerge from the Volvo laughing and chatting. She immediately storms out the front doors to 'greet' them.

"Where in the hell have you two been?" Sam explodes, pointing furiously at her digital watch. "Class starts in eleven minutes, and I've never known Fredwad to be any later than thirty minutes early!"

"We were in Burien having breakfast," Carly answers with a smile. "It was this cute little café that Freddie—"

"Yuck…I don't wanna hear what the dork did with you," Sam dismisses. "Let's just get to class."

Acquiescing to Sam's command, Freddie and Carly follow the blonde inside the school. It isn't long before Freddie adds a retort, though.

"Since when is Sam so eager to get to class?" Freddie mutters in Carly's ear.

No sooner did he finish his statement than Sam forcefully grabs Carly by the arm and leads her away, leaving him to walk to homeroom on his own. He quickly finds Mr. Howard's classroom and takes a seat, wishing the day would pass a little quicker. Smiling, he has a small epiphany and retrieves his phone from his pocket. His fingers ghost over the phone's screen as he types.

7:57 a.m.: 'Good morning, Chels! Hope you have a great day! :)'

He sets the phone down for a brief moment to gather a notepad and a pen from his backpack. Just before putting his phone away, he sees a reply.

7:59 a.m.: ' _Good morning, Freddie! You're so sweet…not used to good-morning txts! Have a good day! :)_ '

The tech producer's smile grows before he replaces his phone in his pocket and begins the school day. His smile doesn't falter upon realizing that Sam isn't in class with him.

§

The blonde finds a utility closet down the next hallway and drags Carly into it with a ferocity that rattles the brunette's nerves.

"What the heck, Sam?" Carly squeals, rubbing her right arm where Sam had gripped it. "That hurt!"

"Did it hurt as much as it hurt me when I saw _him_ with _you_?" Sam growls. "He's still _mine_ , you know…and don't you forget it." Sam's facial tics mirror that of a woman scorned…her eyes bore into Carly's as if to peer into her soul.

"What…are you talking about?" Carly inquires, her mind spinning. "Are you jealous or something? He isn't—"

"DAMN IT, CARLY, I AM!" Sam shouts, making Carly cower slightly. "I'm so tired of these skunkbag girls thinking they can claim MY territory!"

Carly immediately makes a mental note to suppress any mention of Chelsea, but her eyes flicker enough to make the blonde suspicious. Sam quietly sets up for the attack.

"You still love him, don't you?"

"N—no! I never have!" Carly nervously squeaks out, feeling instantly guilty. "Well, maybe I do, but as a friend…"

"Do you love him…or do you not?" Sam whispers murderously.

"No," Carly confidently answers, temporarily pushing her guilt aside and remembering the conversation her and Freddie had shared during the car ride. "And even if I did, I know the truth—you didn't dump him. You can't stake a claim over someone you broke up with!"

Sam's countenance turns incredibly pale. "Did Freddie tell you that?"

"What Freddie told me is our business, Sam, and our business only." Carly rolls her eyes.

"What happened to _no more secrets_ , Carly Shay? What the fu—"

"Sam!" Carly cuts her off. "What'd the therapist say about language?"

"Jank the therapist!" Sam chides with appropriate language before her eyes darken in rage. "Now…what did you and Freddie talk about this morning?"

Carly takes a moment to straighten her posture, steeling herself before answering in her most authoritative voice. "It's not my news to tell. That's all I have to say about that."

Sam moves into Carly's personal space, making the latter girl gasp for air. "Mama always gets the information she wants…just remember that."

The blonde immediately makes a grand exit from the utility closet, slamming the door behind her. Carly slides down to the floor to regain her composure. She taps out a quick message, feeling quite a bit more fatigued than she'd expected.

8:06 a.m.: 'Hey Freddie…b prepared 4 hell from Sam. Don't let her give u any chizz.'

She slumps over and falls asleep immediately after hitting 'Send', her sleeplessness and emotional exhaustion catching up to her. She misses Freddie's reply during her slumber.

8:29 a.m.: ' _Too late, Carls. I'm at the nurse if you need me. Sam went off the deep end._ '


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** _First, a warning—this chapter pushes up against the limits of this story's 'T' rating. Reader discretion is advised. Coming up now, I've taken some inspiration from OneHorseShay and I'll take some time to reply to your comments._

 _\- calvinhobbesliker, when watching through the series, I always got the feeling that Freddie knows a lot about Carly, but she hadn't bothered to listen much about his private life. I'm glad she got a chance to look back with him on some happier times. As for the rest, Sam_ is _jealous, and her reaction cost her dearly—it'd be too much of a spoiler to reveal any more beyond that._

 _\- L Gull, thanks for the praise. I'm writing what I want to see in this case, and it ain't Seddie._

 _\- Guest, thanks for the praise. Read on—I think you, as well as everyone else, will be pleased with this latest installment of_ A 'Pearing' Made In Heaven _._

* * *

 _"Sam went off the deep end. I might be going to the hospital; will keep you updated."_

The moment Freddie's text pinged her phone, Chelsea found herself unable to properly focus in any of her classes. She'd seen the destructiveness of Sam's antics on _iCarly_ , but until now, pushed it down as an act. Worse, Freddie had insisted that she not cut class to rush to his side; she had begrudgingly acquiesced, and she had suffered for it _all day_.

She barely sees the light at the end of the tunnel in her last class. Her history teacher drones on in the background as she mulls over last night's conversation with Freddie. She can't help the tears that brim at her eyes as his words hit her like a train.

 _"Do all your friends treat you like crap?"_

 _"They don't treat me too bad…considering, after all, that I_ _am_ _a nerd."_

"Miss Wiggins," the teacher prompts, jerking Chelsea from her train of thought. "Unfortunately, the Battle of Gettysburg wasn't fought in outer space."

"I'm sorry, Mister Young…my mind is _somewhere else_." She flashes an apologetic glare at the teacher amidst her classmates' collective giggles. He attempts to continue his lecture, but is interrupted by the dismissal bell.

"Remember to read chapter twelve!" he belts out before his pupils collectively squeeze through the door.

As Chelsea attempts to follow her classmates' lead, she's beckoned over to the teacher's desk. She knows he saw right through her apology and explanation—Bill Young and her father had been family friends since before she existed; needless to say, the man can read her like a book. She's not so nervous about the impending talk as she is about the reason for it.

"You're not usually the type to zone out like that, Chelsea," Mr. Young drawls as she steps toward his desk. "Anything going on?"

"Yeah, actually," she frankly answers. "This guy I just met…well, he's got some bad stuff going on at school right now." She sighs before taking a seat.

"Does he go here?" he asks, furrows carving into his forehead.

"No; he goes to Ridgeway High," she answers. "You know Freddie from iCarly?"

"Yeah, it rings a bell," he says. "My daughters watch them all the time, despite my objections. He's the tech guy, right? The one the blonde picks on all the time?"

"That's him," she sighs, letting out a large breath. "And _that blonde_ very nearly handed him his six o'clock this morning. Sounds like he was able to put her down, but he ended up going to the hospital afterward."

A look of surprise dominates the educator's countenance. "I really do hope he's alright, then…I've seen enough of what that _delinquent_ can do."

"I'm actually about to leave and go see him," she announces with a ghost of a smile. "He told me he's a little banged up. But from what I know of him, it's about time he stood up for himself."

"You don't usually go for the fighters, Chelsea. Does the good Admiral know of this Freddie?" Bill asks with a broad smirk.

"Yeah, Dad knows," she answers with a toothy grin. "We just met yesterday, though! He works at the Pear Store on McGraw."

"So he's a techie in real life, huh? Seems like a pairing made in heaven!"

Both teacher and student devolve into belly laughter like the family friends they've been for years. Chelsea finds herself happier for getting the situation off her chest, and it shows in her smile.

"Speaking of the Admiral, I need to call Harry up one of these days; he owes me a drive in that new Cadillac of his. It's been too long since I've seen the ol' brute."

"I'll tell him myself!" Chelsea laughs as she makes to rise from her seated position. "I've gotta buzz, though; Freddie's probably getting a little antsy."

"See you in class tomorrow, Chelsea," the teacher says. "Make sure you do your reading—I can't promise there won't be a pop quiz tomorrow over the first three sections."

"Thanks," she chuckles with a conspiratorial smile before threading her way through the byzantine network of desks.

"Oh, one more thing…take good care of that Freddie you've found."

"I will," she smiles.

§

Over at Apartment 8-D, Freddie feels a little better for wear after a long midday nap. The morning rain hadn't let up at all—in fact, he swears it's raining harder now than when he started the day—but the steady atmospheric pressure had kept potential pain from his titanium augmentations at bay. The cursory medical examination at the hospital, where Mrs. Benson had been surprised to receive her own son as a patient, had revealed nothing that a couple weeks' time wouldn't heal. However, those injuries, minor as they were, had earned Sam a misdemeanor charge of assault causing bodily injury; that left the tearaway rotting in the Seattle Police Municipal Jail and the _iCarly_ namesake raving mad.

Carly barges into Freddie's bedroom, only to find her tech producer under the covers and perusing new SplashFace videos on his phone. As she walks into his line of sight, Freddie gives his angry former flame a glance before setting down said phone.

"What can I do ya for, Carls?" he coolly asks.

"You're gonna drop those charges, _right_?" Carly demands.

"Are you kidding?" Freddie scoffs with an exasperated squint, not prepared for this battle. "Have you seen my janking ankle? Or my forehead? Or my black eye?"

"But what about the show? I can't do it without Sam!"

Red mist clouds Freddie's vision as he ponders his response to the showrunning brunette. "But what about the fact that I probably won't be off crutches until Sunday?" he angrily prods. "Even if I cared about the show right now—and to be honest, I don't—I'm probably not gonna be able to do my job come Friday. I'm not mobile enough."

Carly raises her index finger to make a retort when Marissa Benson storms into the bedroom. The new arrival tightly clutches at a bag of prescription medication from the drugstore.

"First _you_ ," she growls at Carly with a menacing point, "and now Sam. You two are destroying my Freddie and it's _unacceptable_!"

"Mom, it's just a black eye and a few scrapes!" Freddie retorts. "Sam's locked up, so I'll be fine in no time."

"And a badly sprained ankle! Might I add, Mister 'I'll be fine in no time', that's what you said after the Mexican food truck, yet it took you _eight months_ to heal!"

Carly blanches at the mention of the infamous food truck incident; many memories of her and Freddie's brief romantic relationship flood her mind. She recalls, in vivid detail, the kisses they shared on his very bed…the deepness of their contact, how tender he was toward her, the chasing away with a sock. A stray tear wells at her eye in mourning of the relationship that never was, as she remembers how happy he'd been to have her hanging off his good arm, but also for the private moments they'd shared. As mother and son continue their verbal combat before her eyes, the tear does roll down when she remembers the agony she'd been through once she found out about Sam's nefarious role in the breakup.

"Mother…I'm really not in the mood to argue this," Freddie says, more as a defense of Carly than anything else. The webstar gratefully smiles before wiping that stray tear from her cheek.

"But _I_ am, young man! And I argue that you don't need any more girls in your life!"

The doorbell suddenly rings, ending the verbal sparring match long enough for Marissa to check the front door camera.

"Speaking of more girls…if that's who I think it is, I insist she be let in." Freddie stares at his mother in defiance, not expecting her to cave until the moment she starts pounding out the disarm sequence.

"Leave your shoes in the hall," she calls out to the entering guest.

Chelsea enters Freddie's bedroom and immediately gasps at the blackening around his left eye as well as the redness of his nose. Disregarding the other females present in the room, she rushes to the tech producer's side, gingerly taking a seat at the edge of his bed before rubbing his shoulder. Freddie smiles broadly at the contact, gleefully ignoring everything and everyone else in his room.

"Excuse me, miss…do I know you?" Freddie's mom asks of the attractive brunette. The latter person jerks her head around to finally take in Marissa's stressed countenance, glancing briefly at the other brunette's downcast one.

"I seem to have forgotten my manners!" she panics, extending her hand for the Benson matriarch to shake. "I'm Chelsea Wiggins, a friend of Freddie's."

"Marissa Benson…" she trails off, shaking her hand politely. "Remember, Freddie was _my_ boy first."

Chelsea chuckles awkwardly before turning her attention to the sad brunette in the room, now with jealousy clouding her eyes. "I'm assuming you're Carly Shay?" she greets, extending her hand to allow the same courtesy.

"Yeah," Carly sniffles before offering a pasted-on smile and a handshake. "I've gotta go now, so I'll see you guys later?"

"Yeah," Freddie half-smiles, sensing her distress. "See ya later!"

Marissa's stress visibly unravels upon Carly's hasty departure. "No funny business," she sternly reminds the two teens before likewise exiting the bedroom, leaving the door open and the pair to their own devices.

Freddie offers a broad smile to his newfound friend. "See? Told ya you didn't need to cut class."

"On the contrary…" Chelsea sighs, offering her hand to hold. "What the hell happened? I saw you texted me about the particulars, but I never got to read it."

He gratefully takes her hand and squeezes. "I went to breakfast with Carly this morning. Sam saw us arrive, and Carly says she hounded her about what we talked about. After that, she came into our homeroom and pretty much just went for me. Sprained my ankle tripping over a desk, and everything else is because I couldn't defend myself as well as I'd have liked."

"Jeez…" the sweet girl trails off. "Sam did get arrested, right?"

"Yep," the tech producer confirms. "She's in Seattle city jail right now…I betcha Carly has already asked Colonel Shay to pay the bail. Three thousand bucks."

Chelsea's mouth is agape at the revelation. "How'd she manage _that_?"

"Well, there's assault with bodily injury, and they also managed to bag her on a warrant. Petty larceny or something."

She snorts. "Sounds typical…I do have to make sure, you dated that chick?"

"One of the worst decisions I've ever made," Freddie sighs. "Carly pressured me into it, iCarly fans pressured me into it. If you ask Sam, she dumped me, but we mutually broke it off."

Chelsea is gobsmacked as she lets his final statement sink in. "Why does she tell that story?"

Freddie shamefully turns his head away from her soft gaze. "It's a courtesy I allowed her. I didn't want to see her even more hurt, but look where that got me…"

She lets his response linger in the air as her eyes drink in the damaged boy's appearance. His eyes are closed in shame from his retelling of his life's recent events; however, his countenance reflects a ghost of a smile from his newfound friend's soft, gentle contact. As she kneads the back of his reddened and sore hand, he moans softly in relief.

Upon hearing the clumping of Marissa's orthopedic shoes against the apartment's hardwood floor, Chelsea nervously lets go of the boy's hand. As if on cue, Freddie's mother enters the boy's room; Chelsea's confusion grows as she takes in the sight of the boy's mother in her nurse's garb as opposed to the casual housewear she donned not ten minutes ago.

"Freddie, I need to head into work—they're a little short-staffed this evening," the frazzled mother explains. "Chelsea, I suppose I can let you stay for a while. Ten o'clock is Freddie's bedtime; make sure he gets a shower before then."

The tech producer, for his part, doesn't bother covering for his mother. He has an oddly pleasant feeling that Chelsea won't be mortified by his mother's demands, and upon hearing his friend's cheery acquiescence and his mollified mother's departure, he feels rather vindicated.

Chelsea, on the other hand, is surprised at being entrusted with Freddie's care. The girl's cursory evaluation of her friend's mother told her to expect the worst in overprotectiveness. She pushes those feelings to the side, however, as she realizes one way to take the victory: rising from the bed, she flashes Freddie a small smile, watching him track her movement around the foot of the bed toward the other side. As she reaches for the covers, Freddie's countenance suddenly becomes alarmed.

"Only if you want," she reassures the boy with a soft smile.

He flashes a similar smile, pulling back the covers to allow his friend access. She slides into his bed, quickly snuggling up to the boy's right side. He allows his arm to snake around her midsection before once again closing his eyes. As a comfortable silence overtakes the pair, Freddie lets out a deep breath and allows himself to finally relax in Chelsea's warm and comforting presence, suppressing the anxiety arising from having a sweet girl cuddled up to him.

Her eyes remain open, and she can't help but concentrate on his swollen left eye, tears threatening to spill over once again at the world's treatment of her sweet friend. Before she can restrain herself, she leans around and plants a ghost of a kiss just below his afflicted eye.

The tech producer's eyelids blow open at the unexpected kiss. His lips curl into a vibrant smile, which becomes slightly shy once her blue eyes meet his brown ones. As his heart begins to pound in his chest and his breath becomes choppy, he can't help but be drawn deeper into her comforting embrace. He lifts his left arm to join his right one wrapped around the sweet girl's midsection, slightly angling his head for the kill, his eyes closing at the feel of her warm and gentle breath on his face.

Freddie and Chelsea both moan happily as they yield themselves to the softness and the tenderness of their first kiss. The setting isn't as romantic as he'd dreamt the night prior—in fact, his feeling of _deja vu_ is strong given his physical state and the setting—but the sparks are there all the same.

As slowly as it happened, the pair noisily separates from their chaste lip-lock. Chelsea is first to open her eyes, and she giggles when she finds Freddie's lips still slightly puckered. Eyes still closed, he smiles as he steals another kiss from her lips. She finds herself pleased to kiss back, and she does, separating quickly with a smoky expression.

No words are exchanged as she quickly maneuvers herself onto his lap and slams her lips onto his. He instinctively latches onto her waist as they move to deepen their kiss; their tongue action quickly escalates from gently caressing to exploring each other's mouth to battling for dominance. Her hands grip at his sides, not ever wanting to let him go, moaning deeply into their kiss once she realizes he feels the same about her. She lets herself slowly gyrate against his pelvis, guided by the sweet boy's gentle kneading of her rump, as she attempts to suck and nip gently at his lips.

Once she begins to kiss down his jawline, he's beyond caring about his growing excitement pressing into her. He lets out a long, guttural groan as the sweet girl sucks and tongues gently at his pulse point, letting a hand drift upward from her rear, across her waist and up her midsection, to barely graze the side of her chest. She allows her right hand to meet his left at the side of her breast, slowly guiding his hand (initially meeting a little resistance and shyness from him) to the work of the divine potter. Returning her swollen lips to his, she gasps with him as he gently squeezes.

She moans happily as she feels his free hand gingerly move to cup and squeeze her other breast. In her excitement, her right hand drifts slightly downward and to the left, intending not to stop until she feels his maleness, until her mind catches up with her actions.

Chelsea abruptly pulls away from the kiss and rolls off the boy, taking deep breaths to regain her composure. Freddie spares a glance at her surprised face; his own face blanches in realization as both his arms and his excitement go limp.

"Holy hell…I'm _so_ sorry, Chels…" he trails off as he slips out of bed and limps into the living room of the spacious apartment.

The sweet girl chases after the suddenly-shy boy, catching up to him as he collapses into a sitting position on the loveseat. She takes a seat next to him, allowing their thighs to touch as she reassures him with a soft kiss to his unscathed cheek. She slightly adjusts her bra and smooths down her shirt before explaining herself.

"I didn't say that kissing you, nor the other things, was unpleasant—nor was it unwanted," she smiles, quickly stealing another kiss on the lips from the anxious tech producer. "I just thought we might be going too fast toward the _other things_."

"Yeah, I agree…" Freddie breathes. "Listen, Chelsea…I'm sorry I let that happen so soon. Believe me, I don't wanna seem like I was taking advantage of your comfort; I'm not that kinda guy. I'm so, so, sorry that I let—"

Chelsea cuts off her boy's nonsensical babbling with another sweet, soft osculation, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. It's nowhere near as intimate as what just happened, but the gentle contact makes his heart swell.

When they break apart once again, she impishly giggles, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Sorry I cut you off…I just knew I wasn't gonna get a word in unless I did that." She firms her hold on Freddie's waist and takes a deep breath of her own before continuing. "I figure I'll be honest…I didn't just kiss you or let you do all that to help make you feel better. Well, that was a part, but, ah…" she trails off with giggles.

Freddie just smiles expectantly. "But…?" he prompts.

"I'm getting there!" she chuckles. "I know we haven't known each other long, Freddie, but I really like you. You're really sweet, you're loyal to your friends, you're incredibly smart, you stop at nothing to make the people you care about happy, you're a _damn_ fine kisser…shall I carry on?"

"Not unless you wanna try greasing my ego through the door," Freddie jokes, the blush on his face growing. He quietly continues, "How far would you have let me go if you hadn't come to your senses?"

"I don't know," she honestly answers. "I've gotten so comfortable with you, but I'm not an easy person. I promise." She smiles gently, laying her head on Freddie's shoulder.

"When Sam and I dated, I never let her follow me to my bedroom…I still didn't trust her to respect me or my boundaries." He sighs before continuing. "I got so comfortable with you so quickly, I wouldn't have minded us going further, but I'm kinda glad you stopped us. The way I was raised, I'm supposed to put a ring on your finger before we do _that_."

"See?" Chelsea chuckles. "Two more reasons why I like you! You've got morals and you stick to them, even if we did just get a little saucy." She winks and gently squeezes his shoulders. "Plus you're a marriage kinda guy…I hate dating just for dating's sake."

Freddie looks down in regret, taking a deep breath before his response. "I'm ashamed to say I dated Sam for dating's sake. I saw myself possibly marrying Carly one day, but she never saw me that way, so that went south, especially after Adam and Steven. I have to see something in a girl for it to work."

"What do you see in me?" she asks after a beat, nervously twiddling with a loose thread.

He looks up to meet her twinkling eyes. "I see a girl who works her rear off to make a name for herself. I see a girl who treats me with compassion and likes me for me, when everyone else uses me for my talents, or hero-worships me, or pities me. I see a girl who's gentle and kind and sweet. I see a girl who I can spend time with and deeply enjoy her company. I see potential with _us_."

Tears brim at the sweet brunette's eyes as she wraps the boy in a solid hug. "You really think all that?"

"Yes, I do," he breathes, returning her hug with a smile. "I'm surprised that there's someone who thinks the same about me."

Chelsea squeezes harder in an attempt to keep sadness from her face. "Maybe you'll just have to get used to it?" she flirts.

Freddie surprises himself by pecking his sweet girl on her lips. "Perhaps," he smirks.

She glances at her watch, the time rapidly approaching eight o'clock. She flashes a worried smile in Freddie's direction as she reluctantly releases him from their embrace, leaving a stray kiss on his forehead before rising to her feet.

"I'm surprised Dad hasn't called," the brunette remarks, glancing at her phone. "But he's probably at the fencing studio right now."

Freddie rises as well, grabbing at his crutch for support. "Your dad does fencing?!" he asks with an incredulous expression on his face.

"Yeah; he just picked it up. Gets him outta the house, which really helps his mood, especially after Mom died."

The tech producer limps over to her, laying a hand on her shoulder to help steady himself and to comfort her. "I know how that feels…Mom actually changed careers after Dad died of leukemia. She used to be an accountant, but she couldn't stand watching other people die like she did with my dad."

"I guess that's another thing we have in common," she sadly jokes. Freddie lays a kiss on her cheek, causing her anguished smile to soften.

"Perhaps we can talk about it another time?" the boy shyly offers. "Maybe on a date?"

Chelsea chuckles at Freddie's slight awkwardness as she finds her shoes, taking her time to slip them on. "Probably not on a date itself…but I'd love to talk about her sometime."

He smiles before reaching for his crutch and offering his free arm. "Walk you to your car?"

"As long as it won't hurt you," Chelsea accepts cautiously. "Need some support?"

Freddie answers her by wrapping himself around her, taking a deep breath to steady himself (and perhaps catch another waft of her clean scent) as Chelsea wraps her arms around his midsection. Reveling in their embrace, they nervously lean in to share a long and sweet kiss. As they break for air, she begins giggling, which sets his laughter boiling over. By the time the last peals of laughter subside, he's supported his left side with her shoulders, and her right arm is wrapped protectively around his waist. They begin gingerly walking toward the front door in a glowing silence, his crutch awkwardly in tow.

§

A certain brunette web-star watches through the peephole as Freddie locks up 8-D with Chelsea quite comfortably wrapped around him. This time, she can't stop neither the tears nor the jealous feelings as she watches the pair hobble toward the elevator.

"I'm sorry," Spencer apologizes from the kitchen. He feels a few tears well in his eyes at his baby sister's predicament—and he's sure it's not just because of the onion he's dicing up.

"It's okay," Carly unconvincingly mopes, turning away from the peephole. "Freddie told me about her this morning."

Spencer unceremoniously dumps his prepared onion into a bowl, setting it aside and retrieving a green bell pepper. "Huh…I thought you'd still be broken up about Sam, what with Dad not wanting to bail her out. Who's _her_?"

"Sam kinda made her own bed there," she sighs, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Freddie made me think about that earlier. As for him, he met someone at work last night, Chelsea. She's supposed to be some girl wonder of video."

"Someone he can geek out with?" he inquires. "I know it's hard to enjoy a hobby when you can't really talk about it with people. Ever wonder why I hang around Socko so much?"

Carly chuckles for the first time since her and Freddie's morning breakfast excursion. "Yeah, I guess." She sniffs curiously as she walks toward the kitchen, the smell of sage sausage working its way through the apartment. "You making spaghetti tacos?"

"Just spaghetti," Spencer sadly answers. "The taco shells caught on fire on the way home."

She saunters up to her older brother and places her hand on his shoulder, giggling all the while. "Of course they did."

Carly makes to grab another cutting board and chef's knife, setting up her workstation alongside Spencer's. She flashes the man-child a warm smile before retrieving the green bell pepper between them.

"Helping your big bro out?" Spencer cries in glee. "That's _awesome_!"

"It's been a long day like you wouldn't believe," Carly sighs. "I need something to take my mind off all this."

"Well, this spaghetti won't cook itself!" Spencer informs. "We'll grab the sausage out of the oven and cut it up before we sear it with the veggies."

Carly smiles as she begins to section and chop her bell pepper. "You know, Spence, we might have to cancel iCarly this Friday—Freddie won't be able to work the camera, what with his ankle."

"Perhaps it'll be time for another one of Spencer's famous inventions?" he chuckles as he retrieves the aforementioned sausage. "I could build a camera dolly with a couple trips to the junkyard!"

"I think Freddie needs a break," Carly admits. "I learned my lesson ever since the iCarly after he got hit by the truck. He was just so exhausted after that show."

Spencer pulls a face, unreadable to Carly, that suggests she's glossing over something. "You know, that was right after you two broke up. That might have had something to do with that." He slowly chops the sausage links into little cubes.

"Don't remind me," Carly testily shoots back. "Still, I think I'll cancel the show this week. Besides, Sam's still in jail, and I dunno who will bail her out this time."

"To be honest," Spencer begins amidst a mouthful of sausage link, "I'm not surprised Dad won't bail her out. She's screwed up one too many times, and I also know damn well I haven't done my part to stop her violence toward Freddie on my watch. I'll also say this," he swallows, "I'd rather not have her in the apartment until she shapes up."

"But Spencer—"

"I know the show is important to you, but if you don't want Granddad on our case…" he pauses for effect, reading her pained expression. "I think you get the idea."

Carly acquiesces to Spencer's point as she finishes on the bell pepper. She slides the bell pepper from the cutting board into the onion bowl, handing it off to Spencer to add the sausage and a touch of garlic before tossing its contents on a waiting oiled skillet.

"Sam's being…arr—ar-eye—" Carly hesitates.

"Arraigned?" Spencer prompts, silently fist-pumping his abbreviated law school experience. He works the spatula, stirring the meat and veggies in his skillet.

"That's the word! Arraigned, on Friday morning." She smiles hopefully. "Are you coming with?"

Spencer pulls a slight face. "I guess, especially if I'm driving you there. I'm not speaking on Sam's behalf, though."

Carly sighs in regret. "Yeah, I understand."

Spencer hands her a large can of diced tomatoes. "Wanna help me finish the sauce?" he gently prompts.

Carly wordlessly opens the can, plopping its contents into the veggie pan before adding a small selection of spices. The smile slowly returns to her face as she turns down the heat and stirs, the girl recalling happy memories of making her mom's sage sausage spaghetti with her brother and dad. It was the only thing that kept her spirits up after her mother died.

Spencer fetches two plates from the cabinet, dishing out some noodles onto their plates before setting them next to the range. A couple minutes later, when the sauce is up to temperature, Carly ladles a generous helping of sauce onto each of their plates of noodles. She takes them to the table, where Spencer sits in wait with two tall glasses of Wahoo Punch.

As she sits down and brother and sister dive into their food, Spencer finally speaks up. "I promise, everything will eventually work out."

"I know," Carly smiles.


End file.
